


Erect as a dancer

by UlsPi



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Sex, Angst, Barebacking, Chronic Pain, Disability, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Other, Panic Attacks, Rimming, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Burn, Smoking, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-11-27 00:47:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20939513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UlsPi/pseuds/UlsPi
Summary: "And how long have you been limping?"Crowley sharply moved his head."The way you walk, dear boy, implies that either your pelvis is not attached to anything at all or that you're doing your best to hide the fact that you just can't walk they way you'd like.""I think I might hate you, Dr Fell.""I think I might be aiming for it.""Whatever for? I can hardly imagine anyone hating you."Crowley used to be a promising ballet dancer, but after an accident he has to become a choreographer. Eli Fell is a scholar in Oxford, twenty years his senior. They have nothing whatsoever in common, they don't even like each other (they doooo).





	1. Marche Ottomane (part 1)

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Hannibal the novel. I just like how it sounds, and I own absolutely nothing

"Like a genius ballet dancer, Shakespeare defies gravity. You might be pushed into thinking that things are very simple, good vs evil, but each play we look at, especially a late Shakespeare play, makes us, no, forces us to take a step back and get the whole picture. How easy it is to accept that Lear is a despot, how easy it is to accept Iago as a psychopath or Hamlet as a neurotic. Diagnosis makes our judgment objective, impartial, relieves us of our responsibility. Look closer at Lear, and you feel his pain, a keener glance at Lady Macbeth, and you can't judge her a villain and instead see a grief-stricken mother. This is what we can relate to. Take a look at Shylock, though. I sincerely hope, blindly believe that such vile anti-Semitism as we see in "Merchant of Venice" is something redundant. Of course it's not. Yet, it perfectly depicts our perception of the Other. Our predisposition to forget that any Other has eyes, heart, is actually quite the same. In short Shakespeare makes us think and question, doubt. It's a torture we endure for aesthetic purposes, presumably, yet it makes us all better, more insightful, if only for a few hours, makes us examine our beliefs and in the best case scenario challenge them into oblivion. There are no clear answers. Claudius had his reasons, and relatable reasons they were too. Each evil human of Shakespeare's making, and again, the emphasis is on the later plays, forces us to question our moral judgment, and in the end devoids us of our privilege to judge harshly and quickly…"

As Dr Fell continued, Anathema leaned closer to Crowley and said:

"Told you, gonna like him."

"I do like him, but is there any other reason I have to endure your mentor's lecture?"

"If you like him, then you are enjoying yourself, therefore there's nothing to endure."

"Semantics, Anathema. I can't see how it's relevant."

"It's relevant because it's good. And it takes your mind off… you know, things."

"Anathema, for someone working on their thesis on Shakespeare, you are not very eloquent."

"Shut it!"

"Three quarters of the doctor Device, something you care to share with us, or is it only for the ears of your companion?"

Dr Fell made a certain movement, completely indescribable, even if working on one's thesis on Shakespeare, and the movement made small glasses stuck in Dr Fell's dandelion white curly hair fall on his eyes.

"No, I mean yes, sorry, Dr Fell. Got too excited, and he is a complete ignoramus."

Crowley hissed. 

"Don't hiss. Play the idiot," muttered Anathema under her breath.

"And who would you be, oh gentle ignoramus?" asked Dr Fell.

"I'm… ehm… I'm Anthony Crowley," admitted Crowley guiltily, and didn't see Anathema's smirk.

"Oh… oh… that's an honour." Dr Fell blushed, like an impressionistic landscape.

"Shut up!" answered Crowley, blushing too.

"Anyway… as I was saying…" continued Dr Fell.

***

"Did you have to embarrass me in front of the whole auditorium?" hissed Crowley as the lecture came to an end.

"I didn't know what else to say! Stop it. He likes you."

"How come he knows who I am?"

"He's an avid theatre goer, and an absolute slut for ballet."

"Anathema, I hate you."

"No, you don't. Come, I'll introduce you properly."

***

"Dr Fell… Hi. Sorry for my misconduct. I wanted to introduce you to my dearest friend, Mr Anthony Crowley, the resident choreographer with the Royal Ballet," Anathema smiled pleasantly at her dearest friend who, by the looks of it, was quite intent on killing her. Still, he forced himself to grin. His dark glasses hid his embarrassment anyway.

"It's an honour to meet you, Mr Crowley. I'm afraid you are still terribly behind the schedule, three quarters of doctor Device."

"Well… you can't blame a girl for trying. Still… come on, Anthony, say something!"

"Oh, you get yourself into all this trouble of obtaining a degree, and I have to speak?"

"You are a bribe, speak!" demanded Anathema.

"I shall be silent as gay tension in a Victorian novel!" Swore Crowley. 

"It's not that silent," laughed Dr Fell. "You just need to know where to look, you see."

"Whatever. Dr Fell, however behind the schedule I am, it's of no relevance. Crowley is directing a series of short ballets, each one representing a Shakespeare's play, so I thought he could benefit from your lectures and you could enjoy seeing a rehearsal."

"Oh, did you?" Dr Fell laughed.

"I did. And as a guest conductor, I have my own rights," said Anathema before Crowley could open his mouth.

"Still, I'm afraid I can't accept your invitation, Anathema. I am very grateful, though," added Dr Fell with a blush.

"How about we have lunch?" offered Crowley out of the blue, and Anathema smirked. She was a witch, after all. Mostly her witchcraft concerned baroque music and suchlike but every now and then she felt a proper naughty witch. She could be dangerous too, luckily she hadn't been tempted into dangerous actions. Yet.

"Oh… lunch would be… wonderful, I guess," replied Dr Fell, as surprised as Crowley.

"Right. Pick the place. We are waiting outside."

***

And indeed they were waiting outside, smoking and pretending to be able to breathe out beautiful clouds of smoke. 

"Is this your car?" asked Dr Fell in disbelief.

"This is," answered Crowley grumpily.

"It's his baby," explained Anathema.

"Alright, Anathema, you take the backseat."

"Anthony, you are a proper bastard."

"I am. Please, get in, Dr Fell," and Crowley opened the door for Dr Fell.

***

Dr Fell was a proper glutton. His pleasure at the sight of lentil stew with freshly baked bread looked sinful to Crowley, who poked his baked tilapia as if it had owed him money.

"Is it not to your liking?" asked Dr Fell, a genuine concern on his face. Such face, thought Crowley, should be reserved for bedroom. Dr Fell's gluttonous face should definitely be reserved for bedroom. Not his, of course. He was a ruin of a ballet dancer, had coloboma in his left eye and an overall disgusting eye colour, not to mention that he was a ruin of a ballet dancer… oh, he had already mentioned it. Anyway, intelligent scholars with bright blue eyes, ineffable movements of their adorable nose and dandelion white hair could never be interested in a lean ruin of a ballet dancer.

"No… just… not hungry."

Crowley shook his copper head and pushed his plate aside. 

"Don't bother, Dr Fell. Crowley has serious issues with people, dancing or otherwise."

Crowley wasn't even listening to them. So in order to rescue the disaster of a social situation, Anathema quickly found a nice topic of conversation, and Dr Fell enthusiastically joined her.

***

Crowley was thinking, or rather he was remembering. 

Remembering exactly nobody whose nose movements took his breath away.

Remembering never having seen such lovely face, such open smile, such angelic features.

Remembering being a promising young ballerina, the pride and joy of his mentors and a good friend to his peers. 

Remembering his panic attacks and stage fright and listening to Hastur and having a glass of wine before the dress rehearsal.

Remembering losing his balance and dancing vaguely towards the orchestral pit and gracelessly landing there, breaking both legs.

Remembering Lux Morgenstern, his mentor, crying next to his bed in the hospital. 

Remembering what a sensation Hastur was the following evening, or so he read.

Remembering Lux immediately hiring him as a choreographer. Not immediately. After several years of studying the dance theory and history maniacally and blatantly refusing any prospect of academic career, after five years of incessant practicing and realising he could never be as good as he had been.

Crowley could have remembered how his first short ballet became a sensation in its own right. How his first full length ballet established him as one of the most daring choreographers of his generation. How Hastur ended up in the dust at his feet when Crowley first dismissed Hastur's diva-like behaviour and practically tortured him into perfection. Hastur was of course grateful, and Crowley, realising how obnoxious he had become, would always buy a round of drinks for everyone involved in production. 

He could have remembered meeting Anathema, a brilliant conductor and a founder of her own orchestra, an illustrious student of the legend that was Agnes Nutter. Could have remembered becoming friends with her.

Had he concentrated on any of it, he wouldn't have been Crowley, though. He would have been a kinder, gentler, more clever person, like Dr Fell, who didn't need to know a thing about him. Crowley rubbed his knee under the table.

"What is bothering you, dear boy?" Asked Dr Fell suddenly. Crowley looked around and couldn't see Anathema.

"Ms Device has seen an acquaintance and wanted to greet them. Are you quite alright?"

"Yes, yes, surely. Just… remembering."

"How old are you, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Anathema told me you are quite a ballet aficionado. Don't you know?" Crowley was being obnoxious, and considered it his best option.

"I don't google my favourite choreographers, my dear. I'm sorry for my question."

"I'm 36, Dr Fell."

***

So this dashing, talented, obnoxious young man had 20 years worth fewer memories than Dr Fell. He looked… he looked ageless. Looked as if he had been created like that, tall, skinny, shoulder length copper hair, hidden eyes, black clothes a second skin, such a drastic opposite to Dr Fell that it hurt Dr Fell to recognise the difference.

***

"And how long have you been limping?"

Crowley sharply moved his head.

"The way you walk, dear boy, implies that either your pelvis is not attached to anything at all or that you're doing your best to hide the fact that you just can't walk they way you'd like."

"I think I might hate you, Dr Fell."

"I think I might be aiming for it."

"Whatever for? I can hardly imagine anyone hating you."

"Well… let's see. I've been told that my sense of fashion and colour is atrociously outdated. I've been repeatedly told to stop eating as much as I do. I've been asked to stop calling everyone "dear boy". There's always plenty to hate, if you look hard enough for it. I'm sparing you the effort."

Crowley laughed so loudly, Anathema had to return.

"What, your fish made a joke?"

"Yes, it made an ableist joke, and I reminded it that it's stone dead," answered Crowley, short for breath.

"I'm sorry, Dr Fell. My friend is a lunatic."

"Not at all, my dear. He is remarkably sane."

"I'm afraid I must insist on your coming to see the rehearsal. Or the main event. I'm going to like you out of sheer spite."

"Hardly the beginning of a beautiful friendship," remarked Anathema.

"I'm a fucking artist, Anathema. The creator of beautiful things, according to Wilde, and therefore I have to create beautiful things but I don't have to be beautiful."

"It may even be of advantage," added Dr Fell. "Envy and jealousy are very powerful motives."

"You two are evil."

"Fool, do not lie, fool, do not flatter," quoted Crowley bitterly.

"You are still far more beautiful than Richard, I'm afraid," replied Dr Fell.

"Alright… I've met someone I'm intending to spend an evening with, so don't wait for me, you fiend," Anathema smiled and affectionately touched Crowley's temple. He smiled at her, vulnerable and trusting.

"See you tomorrow then."

"See you. Good day, Dr Fell. I'm sending you what I owe you tonight."

"Looking forward to it, three quarters of doctor Device."

Anathema went away. It turned out she had paid for the lunch.

"Need a lift, Dr Fell?" asked Crowley.

"No, thank you."

"I don't know your name."

"Eli."

"It was very nice to meet you, Eli."

"The feeling is mutual. Good day, dear boy."

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley quotes Richard III


	2. Marche Ottomane (part 2: Iago)

On his lonely drive back to London, Crowley was thinking of a strange feeling that slithered into his heart during an hour he knew Eli Fell. By the time he got to London, Crowley realised that is was a champagne like combination of butterflies all through his body and a sense of remarkable calm. Uneasiness of Crowley's usual encounters with strangers couldn't be found when he was with Eli, and by the time Crowley made it to his empty penthouse, he understood that he'd do anything to feel it again. He felt alive, that was the word, alive and accepting. That was dangerous and unhealthy, that could lead to addiction, for which Crowley had a propensity. He had been addicted to ballet since he was four, and being an orphan raised in the family of his parents' rabbi, he considered himself lucky. Alcohol lost its allure after the fall, but he smoked a lot and self-torture he submitted himself to during his daily dance practice was very much an addiction, although he couldn't think of it as self-harm. He was happy when he danced, however much pain it caused him. Crowley learned to cherish his pain, afraid of becoming addicted to pain-killers. His physician suspected something, but he had become very good at lying, at least to his physician. His adoptive mother knew everything and stayed quiet, much to the dismay of her husband but he never dared to say a word against his wife. She was a rabbi after all.

Crowley changed and walked into his living room, which had never been used as such - Crowley turned it into a dance class as soon as he moved in. He took a deep breath and began practicing. 

***

Each morning, at around five, Crowley would pick up Anathema and they would go for a jog in the St James' Park. 

That was the case on a particularly sunny spring Monday, a week after meeting Dr Fell. Crowley hadn't asked Anathema about her mentor and she hadn't pushed the subject, although, as Crowley rightly suspected, Anathema could read minds with the same ease people read ads during a long drive. 

They were about to leave the park when Crowley noticed Dr Fell. He was sitting on the grass, smoking, looking at the book he had placed on his sweater on the grass. Anathema mentioned and Crowley witnessed, albeit only once, that Dr Fell preferred a cream coloured three piece with a tartan bow tie, but as of that moment, Dr Fell was wearing a loose black t-shirt, comfortably worn-out jeans and he had taken his hiking shoes and tartan socks off. The t-shirt left his neck and a part of his shoulder exposed, and he looked exposed, all of him, the way one might see one's lover's naked form for the first time, as if Crowley had known anything about lovers. His knowledge of sex had never moved past pornography. 

"What is he doing here?" Crowley hissed. Anathema was drinking her half-frozen water and didn't mind her surroundings. 

"Oh… wow… I don't know. Maybe he has family in London? Maybe he… I don't know."

"Anathema, you always know everything."

"Well, obviously I don't. Newt is about to ask me out for breakfast, I'll be off…"

"Anathema!"

"What? I have life. I highly recommend you get one too. See you."

***

Slowly, carefully, as if approaching a sleeping lion (oh, he had the lion's grace and gravitas), Crowley walked to Dr Fell and coughed.

"Mr Crowley, what a pleasant surprise! And at such an early hour! Been running?" Dr Fell smiled, squinting at the sun, and Crowley decided that he himself might have been the sun. Le roi danse. 

"What are you doing in London, Dr Fell?" asked Crowley, his tone polite, his behavior atrocious.

"Took the morning train, wanted some… hustle and bustle," admitted Dr Fell. "Please, call me Eli, I'm not on duty."

"That would imply you calling me Anthony, and I don't like being called so."

"I'll call you whatever you want, dear boy."

"Any plans for breakfast?" asked Crowley.

"Well, I intend to have one. You?"

"Same. Care to join?"

"Oh, I'd love to, but you'll have to eat. Otherwise I'll find you terribly polite and indulging, and neither of us wants that, right?"

"God forbid."

"See, that's what I thought."

"I don't like being that predictable, Eli."

"You are not, my dear. Shall we?" Dr Fell stood up. Whoever remarked to him he had to eat less was an idiot. Dr Fell was perfectly built, was made for love, physical, tangible, earthly love. Crowley stopped himself when images of Eli's weight on him got too real for him to be able to lead a proper conversation.

"There is a nice little bakery nearby. We could walk there."

"Oh, I wouldn't miss the chance of a ride in your Bentley, my dear, not for the world."

"Eli, I'm not that young, I don't consider my car my most fetching feature."

"Never doubted that, my dear. But if you brought it up, what do you consider your most fetching feature?" Eli smiled and took Crowley's arm to show he was ready to leave the garden.

"Used to think, my legs," answered Crowley without thinking.

"Really? I wouldn't be able to pick one, to be honest. Let's go."

***

In the end, Crowley walked them to the Ritz. After all, why not? Why not scandalise the poshest place on Earth by tight sportswear, besides, the maître d'hôtel was a fan and didn't care that much about appearances, if appearances were those of two long legs and everything attached, especially long copper hair and the company.

"If that's your casual breakfast place, I'm afraid to think of your celebratory breakfast," Dr Fell smiled. No, his smiles, his neck, the delicious line connecting his neck to his shoulders, all of it belonged in the bedroom of someone worthy. Someone healthy and confident. Someone who had more knowledge of blow jobs than a lonely choreographer with multiple issues. 

Although the way Eli ate was worse (or better?) than any pornography. Crowley made a conscious effort to eat something, but he was finished before Eli even began tasting the dessert, so using his dark glasses as a cover (a poor one) Crowley shamelessly devoured Dr Fell with his eyes.

"Would you like me to ask about your current project?" asked Eli.

"No, I don't discuss unfinished projects, Eli. I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about. What would you like to talk about then?"

"You," replied Crowley and regretted it. 

"Oh, I'm very boring, my dear. Oxford born and raised, my parents died a few years ago, my siblings can't stand the idea of a gay brother, so they never bother me. They are… less interested in intellectual pursuits."

Eli might as well have worn a badge saying he was gay, that much was obvious the moment anyone laid eyes on him.

"They sound even more obnoxious than I am."

"You are not at all obnoxious, my dear, I'm very sorry to disappoint you."

"Good Lord, I'm disappointed."

"Then I will pay for breakfast. What good is it being modest and moderate, if I can't be extravagant every now and then."

"Caught me unaware, Eli. That's unfair."

"I'm not fair. I'm very… partial."

"What an awful person you are!"

"Doing my best, my dear. What else would you like to know about me?"

***

What Crowley couldn't have known, was that Eli wasn't in control of his body or mental abilities in Crowley's company. All of a sudden he had discovered himself constantly thinking of the choreographer, of his saunter, his hair, his long fingers and ridiculously long legs. All of a sudden, he was flirting, was… exposing himself to Crowley, and for the first time in his life, he wasn't ashamed of it, wasn't afraid to disappoint. He felt happy with Crowley, deliriously, deliciously happy and content. 

I'd marry you, he thought, I'd marry you any moment now, I'd kiss you in front of the whole staff of this posh place, I'd mark you with my teeth back home, and I'd love the whole world to see that you are mine, impossibly, unashamedly mine.

Dr Fell, soft, tender Dr Fell was smitten with the person in front of him. He couldn't properly sleep during the week, and that was why he had taken the morning train. He needed to refresh his thoughts, until the devil himself brought Crowley right to his feet, with his legs, thin lips, sharp cheekbones, devious smile. Crowley was a rarer treat than beluga caviar.

***

"When do you need to get back to Oxford?" asked Crowley, when Eli was sat next to him in the Bentley.

"It's holidays, dear boy. I'm in no hurry. I sincerely hope you don't intend to drive me all the way to Oxford."

"I'd drive you to the end of the world just for the fun of it," Crowley shrugged. "As it happens, though, I have a rehearsal in an hour. Would you like to come with me?"

"Temptation accomplished," Eli laughed. He secretly cherished the thought of everyone considering him Crowley's lover, what with the casual attire and the early hours of the morning.

"So, let's go back to mine, I'll take a shower and we'll be on our way to Covent Garden."

"Perfect, my dear."

Perfect would be to join Crowley in the shower, to caress him, to kiss his broken knees (he had googled him, he knew) and paper thin feet with bruised toes, to take him in his mouth, to make him happy, as happy as a school boy on the first date.

***

Crowley was angry. What he didn't know was how royally angry he was. In his own mind he was just pissed off. 

"Hastur, stop it! It's humiliating! You don't even try!"

The piece was called "Iago" and the music was Marche Ottomane, something from an old manuscript Anathema had discovered. As for Hastur, he didn't think he had to try hard, and danced horribly.

"If you are so smart, come up here and dance!" he yelled.

Crowley was too angry and worried to think clearly, so he climbed up to the stage and sent Hastur away. 

Eli frowned, unbeknownst to him Anathema looked as if she had seen a ghost, and the rest of the dancers, including the prima ballerina Beelzebub, appeared to be worried.

But Crowley just waved absent-mindedly to Anathema to start the music, and then he flew. 

As if feeling that something had been awfully wrong, Lux Morgenstern hastily walked in. 

"Who made my best choreographer dance?" he asked quietly and Beelzebub pointed at Hastur.

Crowley was flying, gravity a mere pseudoscientific theory, his movements as effortless as the way Laurence Olivier recited Shakespeare, as natural as a walk in the morning. Eli felt he could read the verses in the way he moved.

"You're a bastard!" cursed Lux looking at Hastur.

"Hey, but look! Broken legs my ass, he is fantastic."

"You are supposed to watch, you sadist!" reminded Beelzebub.

"How can he dance like that being a fucking catastrophe and I…" 

"You, Hastur," began Lux looking at Crowley's flight tenderly, "lack the most crucial thing Crowley has."

"What? Lack of healthy limbs?" smirked Hastur.

"Imagination. Right now he is imagining that he's just fine, that his bone powder is two perfectly functioning legs, and he can only do it when he is in front of us."

"He's just a coward," dismissed Hastur, and Beelzebub kicked his shin. "Hey, my legs are priceless!"

"And karma is a bitch, Hastur. You are here only because Crowley fell."

Crowley barely touched the ground, his face focused and at the same time relaxed. He was a captured octopus thrown back into the water.

"Well, so let him dance in my stead!" shrugged Hastur.

"I wish. He can't handle his stage fright," replied Lux, both sad and proud.

The music abruptly ended, but apparently it was supposed to end like that, at least Crowley didn't look surprised. He came down from the stage and said:

"At least like that. At least the movements, but you know perfectly well what they are supposed to be like. I'll replace you with Beelzebub, they deserves it and you don't."

He heavily sat down, rubbing his knees.

Eli caught himself only when Lux handed him a bottle of water and whispered:

"He'll only take it from someone close to him. Be a dear, or he'll collapse."

Eli rushed to Crowley, but Lux stopped him again.

"I'm happy he has someone. I'm Lux."

"Eli," he shook Lux's hand and moved away to sit with Crowley.

"Oh, thank you," Crowley absent-mindedly took the water and drank half of it in one gulp. "Sorry about that."

"My dear, you were fantastic. I feel so honoured to see you dancing like that."

Whatever fantasies Eli might have had before, right now he only wanted to comfort the man next to him, wincing from pain, trying to coil like a sleepy snake, and yes, that was what he looked like… or an octopus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The music Crowley dances to  
https://youtu.be/Q7h3XIBSHLg


	3. Marche Ottomane (part 3: Cantemir)

Let me take care of you, my dear, my darling boy. Let me comfort you, let me touch you, let me show you how spectacular you are. Let me rub your knees for you, there must be a better use for my soft hands than turning the pages. Let me kiss your brow, let me kiss your lips, let me take you and claim you as mine. I've never felt as old as when I'm with you, I've never felt as joyous as when I'm with you. Let me mark you, even for no one to see, under your collarbone, under your navel, on your shoulder blades, on the small of your back. Let me devoid you of any ability to sit, you wouldn't know how to use a chair anyway, with all your sprawling. Let me see your eyes, let me kiss your eyes, let me watch you practice at your place, let me wash you afterwards. You are made to be pleased, I'm made to please you, sweet, sad, darling, beloved boy. Let me run my fingers through your hair. Let me kiss you to sleep. Let me love you to oblivion. Let me, you only need to let me, and then you'll never regret it, darling. 

***

However pathetic it might have been, the Eli of Tuesday didn't care what the Eli of the previous Monday and even the day before might have thought. Crowley was flying across his eyelids, and once the spring break was over, Eli spoke quieter during the lectures and his thoughts appeared to be wittier and sharper than ever. Judging by the graveyard like silence of the auditorium, everyone agreed with him. It was both torturous and sweet, to see Crowley, le roi danse, every time Eli closed his eyes, every time a spring bird flew by the window, lacking even an ounce of the grace that Crowley had, but alright, the mechanics appeared to be the same. 

The thing with love, especially during spring, was that it tended to make one hopeful, or rather giving exactly no damn about anything. Nature, God, whatever, made it so that during spring it was allowed to be mad, to be reckless, to allow one's brain to be playful.

In rare moments of rational thinking, Eli realised that the last thing the beautiful choreographer might want was the love of a much older scholar, but those moments were rare and irrelevant. 

Sometimes Crowley would call and they would talk for hours about Shakespeare, about ballet, about the elements of traditional Chinese or Indian dances Crowley effortlessly incorporated into his choreography. One evening, and what a glorious one it was, Crowley called and said:

"Listen, Eli, the premiere is next Friday. Previews say it's worth checking it out, so I reserved you two tickets in the third row, which is the best, and… Why are you laughing?"

"My dear boy, I'm afraid I have you on Google alert, so I bought a ticket already, and the previews say that it's going to be a sensation."

"Why just one?" asked Crowley after a long pause.

"Why two, my dear boy?"

"Ehm… significant other?" suggested Crowley, not very sure of himself.

"Alright, so, in the European tradition the other, and a very significant one, is either a gypsy or a Jew. You are a Jew, but I supposed you'd be backstage, so…"

"Oh…" said Crowley.

***

He was drowning. He had been drowning since that lecture, he had been lost since their breakfast at the Ritz. Was it a joke or was it something serious? Eli was beautiful, popular and kind. His students must have been, no, had to be pining for him all the time. Crowley, despite awful (wonderful) dreams, would consider himself lucky if he had any chance of becoming Eli's friend. Under no circumstances could he let Eli see what a ruin he was, what a terrible, obnoxious, rude ruin he was even on his good days.

Among the troupe there were a couple of Russian dancers, and one of them, a dreamy, sad young man, who had asked Crowley out more times than Crowley could count, not that he counted, and he told Crowley of a poem, a Soviet poem that had nothing Soviet about it whatsoever, and the poem promised that old age wasn't garbage, old age was the youth of the tired. That was how he felt about Eli, and Eli wasn't even old, by modern standards, yet something about him suggested a well deserved carelessness about certain things, although Crowley couldn't tell which ones. But he wanted Eli, he wanted him so much it began to hurt. He wouldn't touch himself to those thoughts, it didn't feel right, it didn't live up to sweet fantasies of Eli touching him.

***

The applause was the worst part of anything. It triggered Crowley's stage fright, even if it was only for a few seconds of deafeningly loud sounds. He looked into the crowd, and saw Eli. The man was applauding and then silently bowed. He looked happy. Crowley had made him happy, Crowley made him smile, made him bow. The choreographer felt god-like.

Beelzebub caught him staring, and as the people began to leave, they walked down, ignoring awe-struck faces (Crowley had indeed replaced Hastur with them, not that they needed another triumph, but it was nice all the same) and unceremoniously grabbed at Eli's elbow.

"Come, I think he deserves some… ehm… prize," they said with a wicked grin.

"And I'm the prize?"

"I don't know. Are you? Are you willing to be one?" Beelzebub's grin grew even more wicked. "We are going to drown him in champagne, you know."

"God Almighty, of course I'm coming!" 

Eli eagerly followed Beelzebub.

***

He sat close to Crowley on the sofa, Anathema on his other side, apparently for the sake of propriety or whatever. Champagne was flowing like milk and honey in the promised land of Crowley's ancestors. Even Hastur, reduced to playing second best, was benevolent, although it was largely due to being utterly sloshed.

"Oi, Eli," called Lux, also sloshed, "you are a Shakespeare scholar. What say you?"

The room fell into reverent silence, mostly because their lord and master fell into reverent silence.

"I… I really don't think it's time or place for a proper lecture," said Eli, sloshed.

"Make it improper then," allowed Anathema, and everyone always listened to Anathema.

"Oh, you might regret it," Eli playfully replied.

"Not in a thousand years," said Beelzebub, sloshed.

"That's my person," said Eli admiringly.

"How… how did you know?" asked Beelzebub solemnly.

"I'm sorry to presume, but you strike me as non-binary, and even if you aren't, I always try to be… neutral. Just in case."

"Love you," said Beelzebub. "Marry him, Crowley, or… or… I'll never let you choreograph me again."

"Beelzebub, you are breaking my heart!" said Crowley, and he was far too sloshed to react to a marriage proposal.

"Nothing to break, bastard!" yelled Hastur admiringly.

"So, returning to Shakespeare…" Eli coughed. He wasn't sloshed enough to ignore a marriage proposal.

"Totally," encouraged Beelzebub.

"Well, I loved sweet and naughty BDSM vibes of Prospero and Ariel, loved subtle gay tension between Richard and Buckingham. The music highlighted it perfectly, of course, three quarters of doctor Device," Eli winked at Anathema, and she grinned. "Viola and Orsino made a very well-deserved point of Orsino being an absolute oblivious idiot. Lear and Fool broke my heart. But the real gem, in my humble opinion, was Iago. You relayed his complexity, his twisted pride, his drive that moves the whole story forward just… perfectly. Was delicious. I found myself admiring his beauty, and it hasn't ever happened to me, no matter who played him. It was so… sinfully decadent. I rather think Wilde might fall in love with him. I did, that's for sure."

Better not to mention that however brilliant Beelzebub was, Eli had Crowley dancing the part imprinted on his heart, blood and ichor and all.

"Agreed!" yelled Beelzebub. "I loved Iago the most. Let's dance him together. Come on, loser," they called Crowley, and Crowley couldn't resist. 

They moved to the stage, the rest following them, and they danced the music, because there was no music, Anathema and her musicians being far too drunk to remember how to hold any instrument.

Beelzebub and Crowley danced around each other, tempting, alluring, lost in admiration of each other's movements. Crowley, being sloshed on Eli's presence alone, flew like a fallen angel trying to defy gravity and fall upwards, and Beelzebub matched him at every turn, being far healthier and lighter and gifted. They enjoyed each other so much, Eli suddenly discovered he was jealous.

By the end of the dance, Crowley fell on the floor in pain, but deliriously happy. Beelzebub helped him to his feet and dryly remarked:

"Loser. Never listen to me when I'm drunk, alright?"

"Promise," said Crowley laughing through pain. 

Lux again pushed a bottle of water into Eli's hand, and he obediently walked to Crowley with it, holding him around the waist.

"Oh, such a shame," muttered Crowley, but Eli stopped his mouth and practically thrusted the bottle into his mouth.

"That's the way to handle Tony!" shrieked Hastur.

"Never call him that!" said Beelzebub, Lux and Eli together.

"Oh… look, Crowley, you got backup!" complained Hastur and hiccuped.

***

"The reviews are in!" said Lux excitedly at dawn. 

"Oh, come on, come on. Read some!" asked Beelzebub, half asleep on their husband's lap. Gabriel was fully asleep. As a scenographer he could only expect a mention at the end, after endless praises of his spouse and Crowley, so he didn't see much point in staying up, especially if Beelzebub was dozing off on his lap.

"Nah, read it yourselves. I made sure everyone has a ride," replied Lux teasingly.

"What, even me?" asked Crowley in disbelief.

"Nah, you are a boring tea-total son of a rabbi. You have your own ride. Eli, I didn't order one for you…"

"Well done! I'm driving him back!" and Crowley got to his feet as unsteady as everyone else, if only out of sheer empathy.

***

The ride was quiet. 

"It's almost morning," whispered Eli, looking out of the window as the sun rose.

"Fancy a celebratory breakfast at the Ritz?" asked Crowley.

"If you are joking, that's cruel. I'm starving."

Crowley stopped the car and turned to Eli.

"Would you like a celebratory breakfast at the Ritz?"

"Thank God, it was a Friday. I'd love to share another breakfast with you."

"No dancing though," warned Crowley.

"Your Iago is flying through the remains of my brain, so no need to torture yourself anymore. Oh, please, don't torture yourself, darling boy!"

Crowley's features went sharper than Wilde's wit.

"Don't you dare behave like my father. And my father never behaves like that. My rabbi mother strictly forbids it."

"I'm very sorry, I didn't mean to offend… the last thing I want to be is your father, my dear, however suited I might be age-wise."

"No, no, Eli, that's not… not what I meant. Let's have breakfast. I'd love it."

Crowley restarted the car and drove them to the Ritz. The shameless fan of the maître d'hôtel could only gasp in awe and served them beluga caviar on the house.

***

Eli found himself reinterpreting Iago. Suddenly there was bitter sexual tension between Iago and Othello, and damn the bard, Eli could prove it, somehow. He grew obsessed with Iago, he couldn't allow himself to become obsessed with Crowley, after all.

Crowley sent him the poster with autographs of the whole troupe and the orchestra. 

***

Luckily, Eli couldn't see Crowley running around Covent Garden and demanding an autograph in no uncertain terms.

"Ehm… sorry, but blow jobs work better," remarked Gabriel signing the poster. Crowley called him a wanker and made Beelzebub sick with laughter. They signed the poster three times, just for the fun of it.

***

Crowley sent Eli a book. It was Cantemir's history of the Ottoman Empire. Crowley put a bookmark on the page that had Marche Ottomane. Anathema had taken it from there. Eli kissed the page and spent the weekend ignoring Crowley's calls and guilt-tripping himself with the help of single-malt scotch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not worthy, but if you have time and like what you've read google Cantemir. Or listen to Marche Ottomane (there is a link in the previous chapter). I can't recommend it enough.


	4. Laïla Djân (Danse Perse)

On Sunday, at around noon, Eli emerged from a very cool bath which had cleared his head, so he was ready to return all ten of Crowley's calls. Crowley was breathing heavily when he answered, and Eli instantly became jealous. He was growing quite possessive.

"So sorry, my dear, I didn't mean to interrupt… anything. Would you like me call later?"

"There is nothing to interrupt, Eli, you cannot interrupt anything. Or you could interrupt everything. How are you?"

"I'm afraid I've rather made a mess of things."

"Meaning?"

"I got drunk and then some."

"Oh… was it pleasant?"

"Friday evening was nice, Saturday morning was dreadful, Saturday evening was nice again, and Sunday morning was… full of actively trying to get rid off the consequences."

Crowley laughed.

"I felt I was obnoxious the other day, after the premiere, and I thought you were avoiding me."

"Whatever you mean, dear boy?"

"The whole… father thingy. It was stupid, it was ageist, and I'm very sorry for it."

"My dear, you apologised for it and we had breakfast, remember?"

"Then you didn't answer my calls."

"Then I have to apologise. I wasn't avoiding you, my dear. Wouldn't even think of trying… oh, I've forgotten! The book! Thank you so much. That's why I was drunk!"

"What?"

"Alright, my dear, it's my turn to be obnoxious, but if it's too much for you, may I ask to make up for it and remain in your good books?"

"You killed someone with it? Or lost it already?"

"I kissed the page you marked."

"Oh… oh! Oh!"

"I know…"

"Shut up! Dinner?"

"Pick a day."

"Tonight. I mean, if you don't have other plans. And I'm obnoxious."

"Well, we both are. Let me check the trains…"

"I'm picking you up."

"Oh… come then."

***

Crowley did come, untouched, and had to waste ten minutes on a shower, which he needed anyway, but he was very close to guilt-tripping instead of Oxford-tripping. Halfway through the drive Crowley had to remind himself to drive both faster and safer, there was no way he would be missing that dinner. Besides, having caught a glimpse of his reflection in the rearview mirror, he had to do something with his face to stop grinning like a complete loon.

Crowley called Eli the moment he arrived at Oxford.

"Eli, I don't know where you live. I sent everything to your office, since that was googleable."

"Oh, my dear, how very silly of me. Here, let me guide you…"

The man obviously had the talent for making each and every phrase sound like innuendo. Either that, or Crowley had the talent for hearing everything as innuendo.

Eli was waiting for him, blue buttoned up shirt, cream coloured trousers, hiking shoes and a cardigan over his arm. Crowley, dressed in black, felt a bit like a moon passing in front of the sun and causing an eclipse.

"Where to, dear boy?" asked Eli sitting next to Crowley. Crowley looked at him, or so it seemed.

"May I… ask to see your eyes?"

"They are ugly. I don't want to spoil your evening."

"You too are very silly, my dear. Anyway, where to?"

"Anywhere you want to go," Crowley shrugged. Then his face became white and panicked.

"What's wrong, my dear?"

"I have a rehearsal in two hours, and I forgot about it. Shit, shit, shit, shit!"

"Would you mind if I come with you? We could have dinner afterwards."

"You're serious?"

"Very much so," Eli failed to look serious and smiled.

"Alright. Fine. Great, actually. Let's go." Crowley started the car.

"May I ask, Eli, why did you kiss that page?"

"You may ask, and I think I owe you an answer… See, it's a bit complicated, but I'll try to describe it… I was very touched that you had sent me the book, even more touched that you marked the page with the score. It was a perfect gift with a perfect detail. I got… too excited. In my defense, I felt really stupid the next moment and drown my sorrows in scotch."

"Single-malt I hope?"

"Oh, definitely."

"Duke of Clarence way of dealing with problems," Crowley laughed.

"Precisely! You smoke, don't you, my dear?"

"Sometimes."

"Would you mind if I smoke in your car?"

"I'll be envious, but it shouldn't stop you."

"Why envious, I'll light you a cigarette too."

"I can't, I mean, I can, but I shouldn't. I'm already bad with speed limits, no need to add to my less than perfect record."

Concentrating on the road as he had never done, Crowley heard Eli open the window and light a cigarette.

"My dear?"

"Yes?"

"Keep your hands on the wheel, I'll put the cigarette in your lips, you'll inhale and I'll take it back. Alright?"

Crowley could only nod. The next moment he saw Eli's soft, well manicured fingers and the cigarette touched his lips. Crowley took a deep breath, and the cigarette was taken back. He breathed out from both his nose and mouth.

"I only smoke when I'm enjoying something. It always adds to the pleasure, I found out," said Eli. Crowley heard a quiet creak as the fire went deeper into the cigarette pulled in by Eli's breath.

"Seems… legit," Crowley agreed, his voice low and his hands on the wheel suddenly cold. 

"Want another, dear boy?"

"'d love to."

Eli's fingers entered his vision again to put the cigarette into Crowley's lips. He inhaled and nodded. Eli took the cigarette back.

"When do you smoke?"

"Ehm… when I absolutely don't know what to do."

"You must smoke very little then," another touch on his lips, another sight of Eli's beautiful hand.

"I still smoke. Had I danced, I wouldn't have smoked."

"Had you danced, I think you'd eat better."

"Definitely. I still practice though."

"If you ever want to tell me why you left dancing, I'd be honoured to hear it."

"You must know, I think."

"I know what you chose to say to an interviewer. I think you might tell me a different version. No pressure, absolutely. Just… if you ever think I deserve your… trust, I'd be very happy. See, I'm exceedingly obnoxious, making it all about me."

"I don't mind. I… "

"Only if you want. The same with your eyes."

"Anathema always jokes that they are a part of my face and if someone snatches them off, I'll bleed out."

"That's gory! No, dear boy, I wouldn't snatch them. I want to deserve your trust, not to destroy any possibility of it."

"When I was promising and a bit too vain, I thought my legs could compensate for this, for my eyes."

"I daresay you are still promising, even more so than when you were younger."

"What did you want when you were younger?"

"Exactly what I have now, dear boy. Tenure, respect, books, enough money to indulge in small luxuries sometimes. Could have never imagined myself sitting in a vintage car with an astonishing young man, but my imagination is not too inventive."

"I'm not astonishing."

"I'm afraid you are, Crowley, at least to me."

"Shut up! Sorry, didn't mean it… shit."

"And how astonishingly eloquent you are, my dear."

They laughed together.

***

As the rehearsal went on with the usual yelling by that point met by benevolent and fond shakes of head, Gabriel sat next to Eli.

"Hello, Eli. So good of you to join us. I'm Gabriel, if you recall."

"I do recall. Hello, Gabriel."

"You guys seem to be getting along famously, not that Crowley would ever admit it."

"I'm inclined to agree with his attitude."

"Doesn't fit you, I guess."

"And wrongly."

"Does it bother you, you know, that he is so much younger, leaner and…"

"If I haven't made myself clear yet, I'm doing it now. I'm not discussing Crowley with you. I'm definitely not discussing my age, appearance or lack thereof with you either."

"So cold and proper. Yes, I presumed he had daddy issues."

Eli glared at Gabriel, and Beelzebub noticed their husband.

"Gabriel! Leave Eli alone, bring me my water and do twenty push-ups!"

"Darling, you don't…"

Crowley turned to look at him, and Gabriel obliged with a heavy sigh.

"Very protective of you," he told Crowley loudly.

"Gonna run into you with my car and charge you with the repairs."

"I want to drive," added Beelzebub. "Come, love, you know both Crowley and I mean it."

Gabriel left to fetch water and do his push-ups.

"Eli, I'm very sorry. My husband thinks he is a pleasant, sociable fellow who everyone wants to talk to."

"Shall we wrap it up!?" yelled Crowley.

***

"They have quite an unconventional chemistry, don't they?" asked Eli back in the car on their way to a lovely Italian restaurant.

"Beelzebub and Gabriel? Oh, absolutely. Used to make everyone uncomfortable. We thought they couldn't stand each other, then it turned out they had been together since they were teenagers. He is a much better person in their presence. He told you something unpleasant, didn't he?"

"Doesn't matter, my dear."

"You've been frowning ever since… if you honour me with your trust, Eli, I'd love to know what he told you. I'll punch him for you."

"Then Beelzebub will punch you, dear boy, and I won't allow it."

"They would be the first to punch him."

"Maybe… he told me you had daddy issues and I was cold and proper. Asked me if I felt bad about being much less fetching than you."

"What a bastard! Wow. That's a new low even for him."

"It's been bothering me though."

"You are not cold. You are very proper, but what's wrong with that? It's like gay tension in a Victorian novel."

"Mainstream Victorian novel. Don't just discard all things… underground."

"I will not, promise. As for fetching… look, I don't consider myself fetching or astonishing or even remotely nice. You, on the other hand, are ridiculously beautiful, and Gabriel is just plainly jealous that you can be that beautiful without all the push-ups and such like that Gabriel considers crucial to one's appearance, and being Beelzebub's husband, he had a lot of issues about everyone and their brother admiring his spouse."

"I'm almost sorry for him."

"Don't be. He's good at what he does, and quite… companionable when he doesn't speak."

"He has almost purple eyes."

"So? Here we are."

Crowley parked the car but before Eli could open the door Crowley called him.

"What's wrong with purple, Eli?"

"Nothing, it's just… creepy, I guess."

"Well, what would you say about this," and Crowley took his sunglasses off.

His left eye was snake-like because of coloboma, his right eye was regular, but the colour was that of…

"I'd say that you are astonishing, and no, liquid fire is not creepy in general. Purple is a bit creepy, or I'm rather biased. Thank you, darling boy, for showing me."

"They don't scare you? There are days they scare me shitless."

"You must be a very gentle soul, Crowley. Apparently I'm not as gentle as I considered myself, or your eyes are just that, astonishing. Shall we? I made a reservation while you were busy yelling."

"They have to be disciplined," argued Crowley, but Eli had already got out of the car and was opening Crowley's door.

"Supposed to be the other way round," he muttered, taking Eli's hand, that he wasn't ready to let go off, easily addicted person that he was.

"Is that alright," asked Eli lifting their hands a little. "Or too much daddy-like?"

"You are a bastard, Eli, and I love it."

"How very touching."

"Well, touching is involved," Crowley nodded at their hands.

***

Apparently the place was one of Eli's favourites, because everyone seemed to know him. They were sat in a quiet corner, and the food was so good, for once Crowley was as much of a glutton as his companion.

"So, it must be Italian and fairly simple," said Eli fondly, watching Crowley practically devour his ravioli, a smidge of sauce on his chin.

Eli sighed with feigned exasperation and wiped Crowley's face with Crowley's napkin that he had dipped into his own glass of water.

"I hate to admit, Gabriel must have been right," he said, again frowning.

"Gabriel hasn't been right since he met Beelzebub. Well, and he is a very good scenographer. Other than that, absolutely nothing he says is right."

Crowley caught Eli's hand, so that the man would look him in the eye.

"Eli, I'm not a big fan of Freud, nor I'm ready to bring him to our dinner. As my mother would say, "this man is never invited to my seder"."

Eli smiled, although the smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Which reminds me… I've missed Passover, and my mother is rabbinically pissed off. So I promised I'd come home for Shavuot. I'd like you to come with me. You'll meet my parents and see that if there are issues, then they are, according to the old Jewish tradition, mommy issues."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I am! Unlike you I haven't drunk any wine."

"Well, you are driving."

"No, nothing to do with it… I'm… See, Hastur tried to help me with my stage fright, he suggested that I drink a glass of wine. It was my first proper wine, and turned out to be my last. I lost my balance and fell into the orchestra pit. That's how I stopped being a promising ballerina."

"My dear, I'm so sorry to hear that," Eli squeezed Crowley's hand. "And I'm thankful you told me."

"Feeling honoured, Eli?"

"Very much so. I have a question, my dear."

"Fire away. I'm feeling generous."

"How are you going to introduce me to your family?"

"You haven't even agreed yet."

"I'm agreeing. So?"

"I will probably say "This is Dr Eli Fell, he is brilliant and beautiful"."

"And they will accept it?"

"Do you know how many people I've brought home for the holidays?"

"How many, my dear?"

"None. Anathema is my closest friend, and I've never even thought of inviting her to meet my parents. I don't like labels, Eli. Labels have the gravity pull of a bloody black hole. But you may be sure that you are special to me and that I never feel calmer or happier than when I'm with you, and how come I'm saying any of it, I don't know."

Eli thought of laughing, but couldn't, so he raised their clasped hands to his lips and kissed Crowley's knuckles. Crowley furiously blushed.

"If you tell anyone back at Covent Garden that you made me go all soft and squishy, I'm gonna… I don't know."

"I'll think of a proper punishment, dear boy."

"I'm driving you home, alright?"

"Dearest, it's a long drive… although… would you like to stay the night?"

"I'd have to pick up something back at mine."

"You skipped the part where you accept my invitation."

"Well, you could talk. Eli?"

"Yes, my dear?"

"I'm… I… I don't want to… disappoint..."

"We'll sleep together, and I mean sleep, eyes closed, limbs loose, breath slow, surrealistic visions. I'm rather old after all."

And again, they laughed together.

"By the way, you can't disappoint me," said Eli when they returned to the car.

"Watch me. I've been disappointing everyone in one way or another since I was born."

"Such loud words, so little proof. Come, dearest. Want a cigarette?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is music from the chapter title   
https://youtu.be/W6e9XzTz5CM


	5. La Folia: Yo soy la locura (Du Bailly)

The morning stole its way into the quiet bedroom, and Eli woke up to the feeling of definitely remembering that he had set up an alarm clock and having not heard it. He looked up and saw Crowley, a book in front of him, his head on his hand propped up by the elbow. The red hair looked like rust, but a welcome one, against the grey silk of the sheets and pillows.

"Morning," said Crowley, his voice rasp.

"Morning, dear boy," replied Eli, not woken enough to lift his head.

"You look like a love child of a cloud and a dandelion. Beautiful."

"Wow, I think my parents would be pissed off. Please, do continue."

Crowley laughed so hard, his head fell off his hand and he landed on a pillow close to Eli.

"How did you sleep, oh the love child of a cloud and a dandelion?"

"Very well. I'm trying very hard to imagine a shag between a cloud and a dandelion. Told you, I don't have that much of imagination."

Crowley laughed again. Traditionally, rust is associated with decay, neglect, faded glory, but rust requires oxygen and moisture to form, which curiously relates rust to living organisms, and if nothing else, Eli was a fiercely living organism, and the rust on his bedwear was welcome, to say the least. He wanted this rust to grow, expand, stay, he didn't want to treat it, he saw only glory in its colour and march. 

Before he could think, his fingers were deep in Crowley's hair, and the man moaned.

"Sorry, my dear, I…"

"Never apologise for touching me, Eli."

He moved his head to push it farther into Eli's hand, his white throat and sharp Adam's apple exposed and offered as a sacrifice.

"Why are you so pale?" moaned Crowley. "I've been looking at you, and you are so pale, oh don't you look like an angel? I might have made my own theory of the genesis of the angels. They were all love children of clouds and dandelions."

Eli propped his head up on the elbow and scrabbed Crowley's scalp.

"That's very pagan of you, darling."

"Have always been a very bad Jew."

"Such a pity! What are your plans for today?"

"I need to get back to work in a few hours. Some practice, rehearsals, negotiations about my next production, a lonely lunch… then I could come back to you, if you want. Or you could come to me, although by train, I'm afraid."

Suddenly Crowley moved his head and Eli's hand couldn't keep up with it, so Crowley groaned quietly at the loss of touch, but his eyes, liquid fire, liquid gold, looked worried.

"Is that too much, angel?"

"Not enough, my dear. I'll come to yours. Could pick you up in the evening."

"Oh please, do. That's the best pick-up line in the history of the pick-up lines, although I'm terribly inexperienced…"

"Pity, again… Before you say something, my boy, that's the only pity you'll get from me. Only sardonic, sarcastic pity."

"My favourite kind."

"Good. I only live to please."

Crowley blushed so much his face almost faded into his hair.

***

Crowley slowly peeled his tight and sweat stained clothes off and wincing from the pain, immersed himself into the warm bath. He had to have thought about rolling a towel and putting it under his head, but for now the firm touch of the bath was a welcome distraction from the pain in his knees. He bent his legs trying to massage away the tired ache, but to no avail. 

In the kitchen Eli was quite loud with dinner preparation, and Crowley smiled against everything else, against all the odds of ever overcoming this pain fully. He managed to forget about it completely when he worked, when he practiced, but well, bathwater offered no such escape, and he sighed. He thought of Eli's soft, sturdy hands, how he'd like those hands on his sore knees, on his toes, forever bruised, and he was rather proud of that. He needed a hard proof of having done something, of winning another battle against the stubborn fragility of his bones.

There was a soft knock on the bathroom door.

"Yes?" He answered without thinking, but alright, the lavender-scented foam covered his indecency. Besides, Crowley, for all his imagination, could never expect to be seen as desirable in his nakedness. 

A rolled tower was gently placed under his neck, and Crowley moaned, very indecently, at the care, at the gesture.

"I'd really like your hands on my knees," he said, and Eli asked at the same time whether he could touch his knees.

"You have a calming, soothing presence, angel…" 

"I sincerely hope you are right and it helps."

Eli's hand was on his left knee, massaging it, movements uncertain and careful and more effective than anything else, including dancing. Crowley couldn't open his eyes, but apparently Eli was sitting on the edge of the bath. His other hand moved to touch Crowley's right knee.

Having lost the last of his self-control and shame, Crowley moved his head upwards and towards Eli and placed it on Eli's soft thigh.

Eli's hand moved from his right knee and onto his cheek and pushed Crowley back on the rolled towel. Crowley frowned, puzzled and worried.

Then soft lips, oh Lord, how come everything about that wonderful dandelion man with blue eyes was so soft, touched his left temple, his cheek, his cheekbone, his jaw, the corner of Crowley's mouth.

"I'd never want you to see me like that," sobbed Crowley, both ashamed and willing to embarrass and open himself even more, if that was the price of the touch.

"Shhh, darling boy. You may be a big bad demon dancer, a superhuman when you work, but I do want you like that, open, vulnerable, exposed… you are like an oyster, my sweet darling, and however solid and pretty your shell is, I could think of nothing dearer than the softness inside, the salt, the taste of the sea…"

His hand, the one that wasn't taking care of Crowley's knees, moved through the wet hair, caressed his bottom lip with a gentle thumb.

"Oysters are poets, darling boy, they filter the water to feed themselves, adjust their shells to take the most from every flow, every wave, just like poets filter through life to find the most extraordinary things and feelings, and you are my oyster, both the shell and the soft core, but I'm much more partial towards the core… I should take you out for oysters someday… I served the takeaway, Italian and fairly simple, so how about I feed you here? Or do you want to get out?"

Crowley sharply hugged Eli, burying his wet fingers in Eli's shirt, pushing his face into Eli's belly.

"I've ruined your shirt… I'm sorry."

"Many an oyster has achieved the same. I doubt I want to sprinkle you with lemon juice and be done with you in one quick gulp, though."

"Could you bring me a cigarette?"

"Right away, dearest."

He slowly let go of Crowley's head and knee and hastily walked out to bring the poison.

Eli returned in the cloud of smoke and breathing out, asked:

"Shall we share, or do you want one just for you?"

"Share," Crowley smiled. The cigarette touched his lips the next moment, Eli's fingers casually brushing against his lips.

"I turned your platta on to keep the food warm. Hope it's alright."

"It's my mother's gift. I hardly ever use it, and of course it's alright."

"Look at me," Eli demanded.

Crowley obediently opened his eyes.

"Beautiful. I'm going to lift your leg so that I can massage your foot, ok?"

Crowley nodded. Eli slipped his hand under Crowley's left knee and softly and easily lifted his leg, putting the bruised foot on the edge of the bath.

"Take the cigarette," he put it into Crowley's lips and moved to sit on the floor. His fingers encircled Crowley's toes and began massaging them.

"I have no idea what I'm doing, just so you know, dearest."

"You are doing more than fine, angel. You are practically deflowering my foot."

"God, that's dirty. I don't mean your foot. And I've barely begun."

"Just keep going."

"Oh, wouldn't stop for the world."

The left foot was gently placed back into the water, and Eli repeated the… it felt like a ritual, like a sacrament, so he repeated the sacrament with Crowley's right foot.

"I think your feet are sufficiently deflowered. Would you like to continue or do you want to eat? I'm hungry, just so you know."

"Yes, me too. Just let me get out."

"May I help? I won't look, if you are uncomfortable."

Crowley was silent for a few long seconds.

"I'd like you to help me get out, I mean I can do it on my own…"

"I don't doubt it, lovely. Just… I like taking care of you."

Crowley swallowed his sob along with the last of the smoke.

"See, how obnoxious I am? Making it all about me again."

Crowley made a sound, that might have been a sob, a cough or a laugh.

"I… I'm ready to get out."

Since he hadn't specified whether he was comfortable with being naked in front of Eli, when he stood up, he was met with a towel and Eli's closed eyes. The man looked pale and tired, a soft smile on his pink lips.

Crowley took the towel with a quiet "thank you" and wrapped himself in it. 

"Something to wear or just a blanket, my dear?"

"A blanket would be perfect."

"I'm going to rummage through your drawers."

"You're welcome to."

"Is there anything I should be wary of?"

"As far as I recall, no."

"Pity."

"We could watch something scary, if you want."

"Oh no, I only read scary things or expect them. No need to see them, none whatsoever."

***

They ate in silence, Crowley expertly wrapped in the blanket, which earned him a jealous comment from Eli.

"Looking for you, I found your plant room. They seem to be as disciplined as Beelzebub in the middle of a rehearsal when Gabriel embarrasses them again."

"I'm afraid the technique is quite the same."

"You yell at your plants?"

"I do, angel."

"Anything or anyone else you yell at?"

"Well, I can't yell at my parents. Anathema gets some yelling every now and then."

"Siblings? Lovers?"

"Never had any. When my biological parents died, I was about two, and by the time my mom was ready to adopt another child, I was four and obsessed with ballet. So she decided to just have me. My father is still a bit upset about it."

"Lovers?"

"Been obsessed with ballet forever, was too tired for anything else, besides I had been told repeatedly that I was going to give everyone a paper cut if they tried to hug me. Then I was 19, fell, and considered myself worthless ever since."

"Oh, my darling, beautiful oyster, you really should look in the mirror more often, and not for dancing or shaving."

"What about you, angel?"

"Well, as I told you, my siblings couldn't handle my sexuality, and my parents thought that being supportive implied being supportive of prejudice too. I haven't talked to my siblings since I came out. We remained politely silent through the parents' funeral. And as for lovers… Lovers imply love. I've been charmed, been curious, been infatuated or just horny and lonely."

"Your students eat you with their eyes, you must have noticed that."

"Students are a hungry bunch indeed. But I see them as students and students only."

"Real angel, aren't you?"

"Angels are beings of love, my dear boy. I didn't have enough love to qualify as such."

"Needs to be fixed."

"And having no affairs with one's students is very basic decency and hardly deserves appraisal."

"My mother will love you."

"I'm glad to hear… or I shouldn't? Would you like me to be my usual obnoxious self when I meet her?"

Crowley laughed, and the expertly wrapped blanket gave up trying to cover his shoulder.

"Are you made of nothing but bones and muscles? I was wondering back in the bathroom?"

"Want to see?" asked Crowley. It was supposed to be flirtatious but sounded scared and barely above a whisper.

"Only if you are comfortable with it, darling boy. You don't seem to be comfortable."

"I want to be comfortable," replied Crowley, somewhat ashamed.

"Come here," called Eli and patted his lap. Crowley moved, wrapping the blanket around himself again, stood up and slowly walked over to Eli. The man looked up at him.

"Would you like to sit on me?"

"I don't know. I don't want to be a disappointment."

"Dearest, sweetest darling, you can't disappoint me," Eli stood up. He was a little shorter than Crowley, but to Crowley he suddenly seemed taller, no, just ineffably, celestially bigger.

"I begin to think my going all poetic about oysters was quite silly. I'm not prying you open, I'm not forcing your shell to reveal what's hidden inside. I only want to see what you show me… oh my, going all poetic again."

Crowley felt himself chuckling.

"I love that you look at me with your eyes uncovered. I'm honoured to have your trust. If or when you feel you could let me see you naked, if or when you want to be naked in front of me, with me, I'd be just as honoured, if not more. Now, what are your plans for the rest of the evening and for tomorrow?"

***

Eli rarely answered calls from unknown numbers, but that day he didn't think much about it and picked up the phone.

"Hi, Eli. This is Lux. I'll begin with admitting to having looked through Crowley's contacts for your number."

"Well, I'm fine, thank you very much, how about you?"

"Sassy. I appreciate that."

"You'll have a lot more to appreciate if you continue abusing my privacy."

"I'm sorry, I guess… listen, I've known Crowley since he was four, I care about him. Isn't it enough to forgive me?"

"No."

"Fine, I agree. You must have done something, because he was dancing today, much more than he usually does, and he wasn't in pain. I had my suspicions that it's kinda psychosomatic, but… I want him to dance, dancing makes him happy, so maybe…"

"Lux, I'm not going to discuss Crowley with you, or anyone other than Crowley for that matter."

"Decent and protective. Could appreciate that too… Eli, I know I'm being disgusting. I just… I want him to dance."

"So, it's about you, and not about Crowley. I may be willing to discuss you."

"Nothing to discuss here. Every teacher wants a student like Crowley, and I'm proud of him. I also would like to be proud of myself, of seeing what he can do…"

"It's rather cruel, you know? But then again, I will not talk about Crowley."

"Will you tell him about my call?"

"Yes, I most certainly will, and before you try to persuade me otherwise, I'm an incredibly stubborn man."

"Well. Could appreciate that too. I'm glad he has you."

"Good day, Lux."

"Good day, Eli."

*** 

They decided to spend the evening at Eli's place, and Crowley was driving safely, besides, Eli called him once he had driven out of London, and they spent the rest of Crowley's drive talking. Crowley only laughed when Eli told him about Lux's call.

"I would have killed him," said Eli calmly.

"I've known him since I was four. He has never done anything beyond mischievous. He found Hastur practically on the streets, he helped Beelzebub when they came out, he once tried to beat Gabriel to a pulp when he kept messing up the pronouns. Beelzebub didn't let him. Angel?"

"Yes, my dear boy?"

"Please don't be angry with me. I won't be able to handle it."

"Angry with you? Why would I be angry with you?"

"It was my phone…"

"Darling, I want you here with me, it seems I'm unable to express my lack of anger with you through the phone."

"What will you do then?"

"You promise me to keep your hands on the wheel?"

"Swear, angel."

"So, the way I see it, I'll stand really close to you, look into your eyes with a great sense of purpose, maybe I'll run my fingers through your hair, but we'll see how it goes. And then I'll tell you that I'm not angry with you. I can't imagine being angry with you."

"Angel, you have told me countless times you don't have that much of imagination, besides, you are probably not angry with me because I'm an oyster."

"My sweet boy, are you angry with me? And, just for the record, I've been angered by many an oyster."

"Oh, what did the molluscs do to you, angel?"

"Couldn't open the shell, didn't like the taste. Suddenly remembered they have eyes all over their bodies and forgot that oysters don't really feel pain."

"Gluttonous angel."

"That I am, dearest. Guilty."

"I'm bringing you oysters, by the way. And dinner. From the Ritz."

"They do takeaways?"

"They don't, but I pulled some strings."

"My darling boy, you spoil me. Thank you."

"Anything for you, angel. Thank you for talking to me."

"I'm afraid the pleasure is mine. Have you ever eaten an oyster?"

"No. You make it sound delicious. But you make everything sound delicious because you are a glutton, my angel."

"Since it's Friday tomorrow, how about I'll come back to London with you in the morning? We could spend the whole weekend together. You'll get weary with me, and the week will not seem so long."

"Don't you think you might be tired of me?"

"No, my sweet, I don't think so. I like… your presence."

"I like yours."

"So?"

"So we'll spend the weekend together, angel. I'd love to."

"See, here you are, spoiling me again."

*** 

Eli was showing Crowley how to open an oyster, when Crowley asked:

"Angel, do you touch yourself thinking of me?"

"I'm afraid I do, sweet. I'm sorry, I should have told you."

"I'm honoured, nothing to be sorry about."

"Do you, my dear?"

"Yes. Exactly once. Then I was very angry with myself and practiced much more than usual."

"Oh, you innocent, tender darling. Here, eat an oyster."

Crowley obliged.

"You have oil on your chin, dearest."

"Could you… do you think you might want to kiss it away?"

"I want to, but I'm afraid I won't be able to stop."

"Then I'm not tempting."

"You are, though, my sweet. You have oil on your chin."

"Lord, what am I to do?"

"Oh, let me introduce you to the pleasures of a napkin," Eli laughed and carefully wiped Crowley's chin clean.

***

At night, unable to fall asleep, Crowley turned to Eli and whispered:

"Are you asleep, angel?"

"With your tossing and turning, darling? Absolutely not. Is something bothering you?"

"How… what do you think of when you touch yourself thinking of me?"

"May I hold you, my sweet, as I'm making my awful confession?"

"Please."

Eli held him, softly of course and whispered in his ear:

"I think of stroking you, of you trembling in my arms. Think about the way you say my name. About your smile. About you opening to me, gently and carefully. I'd love to take you into my mouth and I dare think of your mouth around me. I think about how it would feel to have you inside me, or how you feel if I'm inside you. Think about your arms around me, just like now. Your hands in my hair. How I want to hold you so tightly you can scarcely breathe…"

"Yes, sounds a lot like mine, angel… I'd love to have my fingers in you as you are inside me. Want to be an ouroboros with you."

"Darling… you are taking my breath away."

"Oh, I'll stop then. Can't risk your health and all that."

"My sweet, can I kiss you? I'll stop as soon as you tell me to, I swear. You are not that sexy without food involved, I think."

Crowley laughed, as did Eli, and instead of an answer, Crowley kissed Eli himself.

"You are scrumptious, angel."

"Should have brushed my teeth. Now I can't tell whether you like my taste or the oysters with a sprinkle of me."

"Now I won't fall asleep, angel, I will ponder over this dilemma until morning."

"That's unfair, by the way, you kissed me, I didn't do a thing."

"You did! You did the thing with your tongue, angel."

"Fair enough, darling, dearest, sweetest love. Good night, Crowley."

"Good night, Eli."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the music  
https://youtu.be/11xLFw3QbMQ  
Let me just say that it's baroque sex.


	6. Mahler, Symphony N°5, 4th movement: Adagietto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut. Added to the tags, so beware.

"Joseph," said the woman, as if naming a newly discovered continent.

"Mother," agreed Crowley with a sigh.

The piercing eyes of rabbi Ela shifted to Eli, and he felt uncomfortably seen, exposed.

"This is Dr Eli Fell, he is brilliant and beautiful. Eli, this is my mother, rabbi Ela Cohen.

"Nice to meet you." Rabbi Ela's eyes softened. Apparently, he posed no threat. 

"Pleasure to meet you too," answered Eli and searched for Crowley's hand.

"I haven't forgiven you yet, Joseph, but alright, what could I have expected from your mean mass of bones and muscles? Please, come here."

Crowley, awkwardly moved to his mother and let her hug him, and all the while he didn't let go of Eli's hand.

"I'm not going to eat you, you know," said Rabbi Ela gently and moved to hug Eli.

"Please, do come in, you two."

"How are you doing, angel, my love?"

"Much better than I expected, to be honest. I was quite ready to be labeled as a creep."

"Angel, Eli, love, darling, I'd kiss you, but my mother will frown, she thinks that lovers should be worshipped in the bedroom, so just imagine my lips against yours and think of nothing else."

"Darling, if I think about your lips, there is nothing else I'm able to think about."

"Perfect. So concentrate on me, angel, and mom will be happy."

***

"How did you meet?" Asked Crowley's father and earned a kick from his wife under the table.

"Anathema dragged me to Eli's lecture, and I've been drugged ever since," answered Crowley.

"Sweet. What is it you teach, Dr Fell?" asked rabbi Ela.

"Shakespeare," replied Eli curtly. His thoughts were occupied by Crowley's lips, thin, cool, soft, calling for him, yearning for him, promising him a life of love and pleasure.

"Something in particular about Shakespeare?" The rabbi was prodding for details. 

"Well, my thesis was on Shakespeare's fools. The fools were the only ones allowed to speak directly and truthfully, since they were considered just that, fools, and it allows for the interpretation games to flourish, give the reader a certain perspective other characters cannot afford. It's a very baroque thing."

"Interesting," said Crowley's father and earned a glare from his wife.

"What? What did I say?"

"You said one word. It deserves at least ten."

"You'd have killed me for ten," answered Crowley's father affectionately.

"Fair enough," agreed the rabbi with a smile, and turned to her son:

"Joseph, why did you come late enough to miss the services?"

"Mom, you always ask me that, and the answer hasn't changed. I'm not ready for… another comment."

"Fair enough," she agreed unexpectedly.

"May I ask what happened, dear boy?" Inquired Eli.

"A member of my congregation made an insensitive comment about Joseph's trauma. Unfortunately, I can't get rid of that person, however much I might want to," explained the rabbi calmly.

"Yes, what she said, totally," agreed Crowley.

"Oh, my sweet love, I'm so sorry." Eli had apparently forgotten they were not alone, and Crowley loved it. They might have been in a restaurant, in the theatre, anywhere and anytime, and there would always be just the two of them, the rest of the world, nothing more than mere apparitions, reflections of other people's lives and thoughts. Crowley grinned, not as an oyster, although he quite cherished being one, but as a big bad demon dancer.

***

"Short and peaceful," concluded Eli on their drive home.

"Yes, the best. Because of you, angel, they didn't pester me with questions about my health and work and suchlike."

"I doubt they pester, dearest, I think your mother gently interrogates you."

"Quite right too."

"I think it's unnecessary to point out her good intentions."

"Absolutely. I… I just enjoy having you near so much."

"Me too, darling."

***

Crowley was reading in bed, waiting for Eli to join him and absent-mindedly rubbing his knees.

"Mind if I take it from here?" asked Eli and placed a soft kiss on Crowley's knee.

"How come… How long have you been here, angel?"

"Just walked in, my dear boy."

"Oh, alright. Yes, I'd love it if you take it from here."

"May I?" asked Eli, his hands on the hem of Crowley's pyjama pants. Crowley nodded, and Eli rolled the pants up, kissed Crowley's uncovered knee and began massaging it.

"Want to tell you something, sweet."

"All ears," replied Crowley and put away the book.

"It occurred to me that I might sound silly and… sickeningly sweet when I call you all those pet names. You haven't complained, but I wanted to tell you, that I do it because I bubble up with… it was much easier in my head."

"Look at me, angel."

"Yes, sweetheart?" He looked up at Crowley with his bright blue eyes.

"I love the pet names. They don't feel forced or silly or whatever. I feel every word, and I bask in every word."

"Thank you, my love. Can I kiss you?"

Crowley nodded.

Eli smiled, lazily leaned forward, never leaving Crowley's right knee and adding the left one on the way.

"Forget my damned knees, angel, just for a kiss."

"Your wish is my command, dearest, sweet, lovely you."

They kissed, Crowley pulled Eli closer and the esteemed scholar fell on him.

"Demon oyster. Possessing my mouth…" whispered Eli and returned to kissing Crowley, then moved carefully to his neck.

"Is this alright, darling?"

"Yes, absolutely."

"Familiar t-shirt," remarked Eli, pushing the collar of a worn-out grey t-shirt. Crowley blushed.

"Yes, yours."

"I sincerely hope you didn't pull it out of dirty laundry…" Eli looked up at Crowley. "Silly me, of course you did. The clean t-shirt would be useless. I'm mad about you, you darling pervert."

"You are lucky you can't wear mine."

"I consider myself unlucky in that case."

"You know what would be even better?" asked Crowley as Eli resumed kissing his neck.

"Lovely, you have that awfully endearing tone when you want to flirt and sound scared. I'll keep kissing you so you don't have to look at me."

"This t-shirt would be priceless if you came on it."

Eli sharply pulled himself up in his arms and inquisitively looked at his younger love.

"I'd love you to show me how to touch you," added Crowley, having mustered all his courage.

"I'm very proud of you, my sweet oyster."

Crowley gratefully nodded and pulled Eli's pants down a bit. Eli settled at his side and kissed him on the cheek.

"Give me your hand," asked Eli holding out his soft, clever, pale pink hand. Crowley placed his hand into Eli's, and Eli tenderly guided him, encircled Crowley's fingers around his member.

"Like that, sweet. Now stroke, the slower the better. You might want to add a twist every now and then… ah, just like that, darling, yes, you are so good, you feel so good," Eli cupped Crowley's face with his hands and barely touched Crowley's cheek with his lips, opting instead for his ear. "Yes, my sweet, my love, you are doing so good. And you may stop at any point, dearest."

"I like touching you…"

"Shhh, you don't have to talk if you don't want to."

"I don't know about that, angel, but I do like touching you. I should have done it sooner."

"No, lovely, you shouldn't have. I want you to touch me only when you are certain you want to… Sweet heavens, love, you are gorgeous," Eli turned Crowley's face to him and kissed his lips.

"Don't forget you have to come on the t-shirt," reminded Crowley, barely managing a chuckle.

"I won't forget, my heart, I might forget my name, but I won't forget your request. You might need to settle yourself a bit lower, though."

Suddenly Crowley moved down Eli's body and gingerly kissed the head of Eli's cock. Eli hissed.

"Is that… would you like me to..?" Crowley looked up at Eli, who looked back both worried and lustful.

"Whatever you want, love. You own me."

Crowley nodded and took Eli in his mouth. Anathema could go and burn all the ancient music in the world, there was nothing better, sweeter and mightier than Eli's moans, tears in his voice… what? 

"Angel, are you alright?"

"Lovely, if you still want it, just keep going."

Crowley decided it would be best to oblige, and therefore obliged… almost.

"I want you to tell me what you'd do to me, angel," he asked and sucked Eli into his mouth.

"It… entirely depends on what you'd want me to do, love… God, yes, you are so good, darling, you are so unbearably good… I'd like to stroke you holding you, kissing your face, hiding you from the whole blessed world. Want to be your shell, my darling oyster… Crowley, I'm close."

Crowley hummed appreciatively.

"What… what about… Darling… what about the t-shirt?"

Crowley made a noise of not giving a damn.

"Well… you could always clean me with it…"

Crowley made a sound which could be interpreted as agreement and appraisal for such a clever idea.

"Sweet, lovely, lover, I can't hold on for much longer…"

Crowley hummed something along the intonation of "come on". Eli was a good lover, he obliged and shuddered, filling his lover's mouth with his seed.

"Oh… darling. Come here, now, please."

Eli's seed dripped from Crowley's grin. He wiped it with the t-shirt, took it off in one move and went on to clean Eli with his tongue slowly rising up, to Eli's lips.

"Bones and muscles indeed," whispered Eli, caressing Crowley's back, moving to kiss his chest.

"I'm so predictable, angel, how can you bear with me?"

"You are completely unbearable, my love. May I touch you?"

"No… need, angel. I'm good."

"May I clean you?"

"You sure you want it?"

"Glutton, my dear. Of course I want to. Do you?"

"Not sure."

"Then just… come here, let me hold you. You made me so happy, darling. I've never been happier."

"You mean it, angel?"

"Absolutely. Come here."

Eli embraced Crowley, kissed his hair, stroke his shoulder and pulled his knee to rest against his stomach.

"Lovely… what are your plans for summer?"

"As soon as the season's over, I have about a month of freedom. Thought… thought I could spend it with you, in Oxford, I mean."

"That would be perfect. You are perfect."

"Then I'll have to return to work. I'm doing "The Prince of the Pagodas" and…"

"You don't discuss your projects, dearest, remember?"

"But I'm your oyster. I want to tell you."

"Then do proceed."

Crowley proceeded, telling Eli about remaking the choreography of Britten's only ballet, of having commissioned and received music for his own Genesis-based libretto, and so on and so forth. He was still waiting for Anathema to finish her music for Lux's libretto of "Moby Dick".

"Eli?"

"Yes, my love?"

"You are the world to me. There is nothing else I'd rather be than your oyster."

"I'm afraid I'm speechless, darling."

"Now that's an accomplishment!"

"You should be proud of yourself, dearest."

"I am very proud of you, angel. You are my shell, and there has never been a better shell in the whole ocean."

"Even if I do some boring paperwork or bury myself in the Bodleian?"

"Especially if! I'll get to sit next to you, I'll get to steal more of your dirty laundry!"

"You've ruined me, you know."

"Ruined you?.."

"No, not like what you think about yourself, my wonderful, tender, brave darling. Like… like I was sober and rational, and you made me yours. Thank you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a lot of marvelous renditions of the music in the chapter title. I highly recommend this one  
https://youtu.be/yjz2TvC2TT4


	7. John Dowland, Lachrimae

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More smut, some panic. Tags added.

My sweet summer, my long, slow, happy summer, tell me, how many t-shirts you pulled from my, from our dirty laundry? I called you a pervert, but on a rare occasion when I get to do the laundry before you've done everything and then have organised it all meticulously, I love seeing our laundry mixed up, I love trying and failing to find matching socks, I love seeing you wearing my clothes. I love you, my darling, my soft, fragile, delicate oyster. I have loved you since I met you, I'm so happy with you, I'm so sinfully proud to see that I can make you happy. You let me take you in my arms, my hands, my fingers, my mouth, you let me be close to you, intimate with you. You let me know you. You let me touch you. I wish I were good enough to not cherish the thought of being the first to touch you like that. I find it increasingly difficult to think there might be others after me. I can't stand the thought of touching anyone but you, the thought of anyone else touching me. I don't want anyone to touch me. I don't want anyone but you.

You when we eat in the morning, when you make me drop everything and get lost to your touch, your mouth. You when we go to the Bodleian, and you read with me, you do, and then you touch me, just a hand on my knee, just a breath on my cheek, and I can't read a word afterwards. You when we go somewhere for lunch, and they look at you, envious, but you are mine, and they look at me, angry and jealous, but you are mine, when they look at us and wonder whatever it is they wonder about, and you are mine and I am irrevocably yours. You when you cook me dinner, you when we shower together, you when we eat, you when we undress, when we go to bed, when you stop me and kiss me, tell me you want to be mine, let me suck you, let me cherish you.

When the summer is over, what will become of us? 

***

Angel, Eli, my love, my shore, my rock, my sea, I want to give up every damned thing and just stay with you, just stay your darling boy, your oyster, your love, your darling, yours, yours, yours. Do you have any idea how hot you are when you eat? When you read? When you look at me, my sea, my shell, my thousand angel eyes? Am I able to show you how much I want you? 

I should move here. It's only an hour by train, faster than by car. I'll leave the car here, we could go to picnics sometimes. 

***

"Angel?"

"Yes, love?"

"How does it feel, having someone inside you?"

"Someone… well, someone might feel good. Pleasant and strange and lovely…"

"How would you feel having me inside you?"

"I think I would feel complete. I'd feel at ease, like I'd been made to end up just then and there, for you. I was in a rush, in a hurry to get there, so I was born before you and missed you ever since."

"And if I don't live up to it?"

"Dearest, it's you. It might be awkward, alright, but still, it's you and being close to you. You don't have to do a thing, though."

"I want to, angel."

"Crowley, you want it for me, and however much I'm flattered, I want you to want it for yourself. Lust after me."

"Angel, you are scandalising."

"I am, right?"

***

It was a typical evening of that short and long July. It took about a day to settle into "typical", and it turned out as lovely as Eli expected. Crowley didn't complain either. 

They ate their dinner, went for a walk and were getting ready for bed when Crowley said:

"Angel, I'm going to scandalise you."

"Seems fair, my dear."

"I want to move in with you. Or, if that's too much and too fast and too early, how about I just move to Oxford and…"

He was pulled to the bed and fell on Eli.

"Move in with me." Eli almost growled. "If that's what you want, if that's convenient for you, move in with me, darling."

Crowley was silent for a moment, nuzzling Eli's neck.

"Thank you," he said finally.

"Thank you? Sweetheart, I don't think you know how gratitude works," replied Eli playing with Crowley's hair.

"Oh really?"

"Really, my sweet. The way I see it, you, dashing, talented, young, beautiful you want to move away from your job to live with an older man, who is not dashing or beautiful or anything of the kind, and who finds a library the most exciting place on Earth and eats too much."

"Eli, you are silly. You are dashing and beautiful and caring and kind, and made for love. And silly. I love you silly."

For all the pet names and an overwhelming sense of belonging together obvious to both parties, they never said as much. Eli was afraid of appearing clingy or needy, Crowley was afraid of the same. At that moment, though, Crowley didn't think what he had said and continued his ministrations over Eli's neck. He was getting lower and breathed harder and was overall losing himself. 

"May I?" he asked before taking off Eli's pyjama pants. Eli nodded. He was both losing himself and too acutely aware of what he was, what he felt and… alright, mostly losing himself. 

Crowley's lips barely breathed over Eli's cock, and suddenly he moved lower, his tongue tentatively touching his lover's asshole, trembling fingers stroking Eli's member.

"Dearest…"

"Now that I have you," Crowley interrupted his caresses and looked up, "I want you even more," he grinned, needy and greedy and heartbreakingly beautiful.

"I want you too, love… God!"

Crowley's tongue pushed inside him, as his hand kept slowly stroking. He hummed contentedly, laving, licking, prodding.

"You are so good to me, my love. You are so good…"

"I sincerely hope so," answered Crowley from down below and grazed Eli's thigh with his free hand.

"Lubricant, dearest?"

"Yes, angel. And a condom."

Eli handed him the lubricant and lifted Crowley's face to look at him.

"I want bareback, my love, if that's fine with you."

Crowley just whined. He pushed his slick thin finger inside, quickly added the second, rocked his head on Eli's thigh. He muttered something but Eli was far too lost in bliss to hear him well.

"What is it, oyster?"

"Tell me… tell me what you want, like you do. I love when you talk me through." He bit at Eli's inner thigh and added, his voice low and desperate: "I'll mark you. You are mine and I'll mark you… I'm sorry, angel, I didn't mean…"

Eli pushed him out and rolled them over, straddling Crowley. 

"Now listen, love, and listen well," he caressed Crowley's arms, upwards and then held his hands tightly above his ginger head.

"Yes, angel…"

Eli bit his neck, his collarbone, his jaw.

"I am yours and you are mine, for each mark you'll leave I'll mark you tenfold. And now…" he playfully stroke Crowley's length, spreading lube all over it.

"Now you will take me like that, barely prepared, because this is what I want. Are we good?"

Crowley nodded, biting his lip. Eli slid down with a soft, tender moan, never taking his eyes off of Crowley's.

"You are marvelous, my love. You are perfect for me. I don't know if I was made for love, but I'm sure I was made for your love… how are you, my sweet?"

Crowley's answer was incoherent.

"Am I hurting you? Am I too heavy?" asked Eli concerned.

"You are perfect, angel," screamed Crowley. "I… I could… I couldn't think it will be so… sweet.. it's so sweet," tears rolled down his sharp pale face. "Please, please, go on."

Eli obliged and began riding him slowly, as slowly as he liked to be stroked, which reminded Crowley that he was negligent. He reached down and gently stroked his love.

"Oh my sweet, my wonderful lover… you shouldn't have been afraid to disappoint me, you are too good, too perfect to disappoint me. You couldn't have been better. I want you to meet me in the middle, could you?"

Crowley lifted his hips meeting Eli's movements.

"Yes, oyster, just like that, just like that… When we come, sweet, I want to lick you clean. Then I want to hold you and touch you again, touch you all over, I want my fingers in you, I want to hold you, back to chest, and kiss you, kiss you, kiss you…

Crowley couldn't understand the rest, he felt like he was fainting and cried it out, scared. Next thing he knew, Eli was next to him, holding him tightly.

"My sensitive darling, my sweet, my oyster… Would you like some water?"

"I can't feel my legs… and you didn't come."

"What do you mean you can't feel your legs?"

"I can't feel my anything actually… just… it feels just so good, I can't bear it."

"I love you, my sweet boy, my beautiful lover. Now, breath."

"You didn't come!"

"Neither did you. If it bothers you so, you may finish, but you don't have to."

"Why are you so good to me? I'm… broken. In… incomplete."

"You are not broken, and I'm incomplete, too. I didn't know I was until we met."

"I've been incomplete since the fall."

"Oh darling… you are perfect to me, though. I wish I had been there for you, could tell you from the beginning that you are perfect, will always be perfect."

"I… I'm scared."

"Of course you are. May I ask you to stay with me? You… seem to be slipping away from me, and I love you so, I want you to stay with me, to let me stay with you."

"I'm scared…"

"Should I let you go, love?"

"No, no, no, no, never, oh no, please no," Crowley sobbed into Eli's shoulder and held on to him for dear life.

"Shh, shh, I'm here, I'll stay with you as long as you have me."

***

In the end, Crowley fell asleep in Eli's arms, and as soon as Eli was sure he wouldn't wake him up, he slipped out of bed and checked his watch. It was just past midnight.

"Well, I guess now is as good a time as any," he muttered to himself and went to his study, opened his laptop and wrote two emails. Then he nodded, agreeing with himself and returned to his love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://youtu.be/fZYzuIGDYGs  
Some sad music.


	8. Tarantella Napoletana, Tono hypodorico

When Crowley woke up it was still dark outside. Eli was sitting in his armchair by the window, reading his Kindle which only happened if he couldn't sleep and didn't want to leave Crowley.

"Angel?"

"Yes, my dear boy," he turned to face Crowley and smiled.

"Are you angry with me?"

"No, not at all, dearest."

"Listen… I know it's stupid and… I want to go for a drive, alone."

"Of course, sweet."

"And I don't know…"

"If it's not too much trouble, send me an empty message or something of the sort, so that I know you are alright."

"I'm sorry, angel…"

"Hush, sweet. Whenever you choose to come back, I'll still be here. If you don't want to come back… well, it was nice knowing you. It was an honour and pleasure beyond my wildest dreams."

Crowley quickly got up and dressed. Eli returned to his book, visibly as calm as ever, but there was something in his posture, something about his beautiful round shoulders that made Crowley think he was about to cry. Eli remained silent and when Crowley said he was ready to go, he nodded and smiled at him. Crowley ran out of the house and practically jumped into the car.

***

He drove all the way to London without much thought. He wanted to talk to someone. Anathema wouldn't do, his mother could do, but in all honesty he only wanted to talk to Eli, and he couldn't talk to Eli. 

Crowley considered returning to his flat, but Anathema babysat his plants and he didn't know when she would be there. He couldn't tell why he didn't want to talk to her, but he certainly didn't. She wouldn be worried and jump to conclusions and would uncannily know everything without a word from Crowley.

He drove to his mother's synagogue and waited for her there.

***

"Joseph."

"Mother."

"Something you want to talk about?" she sat next to her son and looked at him.

"Yes."

"Whenever you are ready," she said. "Want to go to my office?"

"No, here."

"Alright then. Listening."

Ela sat calmly and waited. 

"Yesterday I asked Eli to let me move in with him. He was happy. Then… then I wanted him so much, and you see, he… we… we touched and kissed and caressed but…"

"You had anal sex?"

"Yes, well, I wanted to. For the first time I wanted it. He was attentive and tender as usual, careful… he was riding me when I… panicked. It felt so good, it was so perfect, and I panicked. He stopped at once, but I… it was too much. I didn't know where each one of us began or ended, and it was scary. He asked me to stay with him, because he said he felt like I was slipping away. He asked if he should let go off me, and that scared me even more. I woke up before dawn, he was reading by the window. I said I wanted to go for a ride. He asked me to text him at some point, he wanted to be sure I was alright. He said… he said whenever I'd like to come back, he'd wait for me, and if I didn't want to come back, then… he said he was honoured to get to know me. What's wrong with me, mom?"

"Nothing. You love him, and he loves you, and yes, it can be scary. You didn't want to talk to me, did you, Joseph?"

"No, I only want to talk to him."

"Thought as much. I'm not jealous, by the way."

"You're not?"

"No. Joseph, I do hope you're kidding me, because I did my best to not live up to the stereotype."

"You did beautiful."

"Thank you. But the point I was trying to make is that… You love him?"

"I do."

"Good, so… you see, the way he loves you, it's divine. He's like… he accepts you, cherishes you. When you brought him here, he didn't give a damn about impressing us, but kept an eye on all your… on all of you. I'm a rabbi, Joseph, and I've never felt such love. Maybe it is because he is older than you and rightly considers himself lucky to have someone like you. Joseph, you are as beautiful as Joseph, and finally there's someone who can appreciate it without being frustrated with you, like we are sometimes. Yet I have to say that if you don't like it, don't feel comfortable with it, it's fine. Divine love is burning. You are a Jew, you know it."

"I don't think I do. I'm scared."

"It's alright. I can't give any advice, can't be your mother and your rabbi. I have a meeting in an hour and I'm not remotely ready, so could you please kindly fuck off?"

"I love you, mom."

"Love you too, Joseph. You don't have to keep me updated."

***

Crowley mindlessly drove around London for several hours, then decided to indulge himself and went shopping. He bought some more tight jeans and tighter t-shirts, then bought a shirt, a cardigan and a scarf that had been obviously made for Eli. 

He smiled to himself and drove around all old book shops and bought a dozen or so books because they reminded him of Eli, which he only realised putting them into the car. Yes, it was scary and strange and he didn't know how to deal with it, but he couldn't stop thinking about Eli, how much he wanted to talk to him, hold him, to be held by him. How much he wanted to be scared again by all the love Eli was pouring over him. His heart was calling out to him. 

Crowley drove to the Ritz, got a ridiculous amount of oysters and drove back to Oxford.

***

Eli spent the day pretending he was very calm. He read, he did some paperwork, cooked lunch and dinner, relished in the way Crowley had rearranged his kitchen. Did the laundry and spent an hour crying over a pair of matching socks. Read some more, changed the sheets and regretted it and spent another hour crying over the sheets. 

Somehow he wasn't bitter or angry or jealous. He wanted to love that boy to his dying day and knew that it was precisely what would happen. He was made to love him, cherish him, care for him.

By ten in the evening Eli felt exhausted and somehow still happy. He was hopeless and accepted it with a wicked grin. 

"So sorry, angel, traffic was hell," Crowley walked into the kitchen with more bags than was humanly possible.

"Hello, my dear boy," managed Eli. He stopped himself before he could run to Crowley and hold him. Instead Crowley put his bags on the floor and gingerly walked to Eli.

"Got scared, angel, and I'm sorry. Nobody has loved me like you do. I never loved anyone like I love you."

"Oh, my darling silly oyster, I'm so glad you came back."

"You were crying, weren't you?"

"Yes, laundry is a sad business."

"I've brought you oysters, angel, and some books. I'm afraid I bought you some clothes as well, but you don't have to wear them."

"On the contrary, love, I'd like to try them on this minute."

"It will take some time to find it… maybe we could start with the oysters?"

"Lovely. I'll open the wine."

"How come you are not angry with me?"

"You came back, love. Besides I don't think I can be angry with you. We don't work like that, you and I."

"Are you always like that?" asked Crowley smiling and crying.

"No, only with you. I'm that sappy only with you."

"You are that beautiful only with me. I love you, angel."

"Love you too, my oyster."

***

They ate together, and Crowley managed to find the bag with the clothes he had bought for Eli and watched Eli try them on and watched him coo over the books and kissed him silly. They showered together and went to bed naked, although Eli refused to do anything apart from kissing and holding. Crowley didn't argue, didn't want to argue. Anathema would probably laugh and his mother would definitely make a face of "I told you so".

"Darling," called Eli half-asleep.

"Yes, angel, my love?"

"We'll talk about it thoroughly tomorrow, but I wanted to ask you something. Would it be easier if I moved in with you? If I moved to London?"

"You whole life is here, angel. I only have work back in London."

"We'll talk about it, my love."

"Sure. Good night, angel."

"Good night, oyster."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://youtu.be/RD6khYNpnS4  
Here is happy music


	9. Coda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your amazing comments. I really don't know how to express my gratitude...  
I decided to add an extended version of the last chapter. Either sorry or you're welcome.

Eli was happy, that much he could say. Yet sometimes he would catch himself thinking that he couldn't quite believe it. He couldn't believe that a much younger, handsomer man would sweep him off his feet, literally, as said man returned to him late at night. He couldn't believe the words pouring out of Crowley's mouth as he pushed Eli into the wall kissing him silly.

_ Missed you missed you missed you so much who would I talk to when you are not around only you know me only you make me feel less of a failure only you you you you everything is you angel I love you so much I love you you you you you _

It took several attempts and a few panic attacks but when Crowley finally managed to allow himself the pleasure of having Eli all to himself and especially when he allowed Eli to open him, to know him at his most vulnerable, it all became calmer, for both of them. 

_ You were always right I am your oyster and I was always right you are my shell and I will never feel safer and better than I'm with you inside you when you are inside me I really can't choose can you choose  _

Then one day one of Eli's colleagues, for all their degrees and esteem much less sensitive than Crowley's, made a remark, something about midlife crisis, younger lover and he'd get tired of you Eli  _ a choreographer a ballet dancer he must fuck around so much so funny _

Eli came home angry and frustrated. He had never had close friends, and he barely noticed how he had mentioned Crowley in a casual conversation. He wouldn't go all poetic on those people, wouldn't tell them a thing about how much he and Crowley needed each other, understood each other. 

Eli had renewed his driver's license and would sometimes pick Crowley up, but that evening he didn't want a thing, he only wanted Crowley to come back and sweep him off his feet. Crowley texted, he didn't read. Crowley called, he didn't answer. After several torturous hours he finally arrived and found his lover angry and gloomy.

"What's wrong, angel? Do I have to kill someone? Did someone say a word about your lovely soft body?" he smiled into the kiss. "I have a feeling that you want to be spoilt tonight and as it happens, I brought you a cake and now I'm going to feed it to you. As dinner or as a dessert. I brought dinner as well."

"I've been told you fuck around and I have a midlife crisis," confessed Eli while Crowley began undressing him "just for easier casual access, I can't peel you like an onion every time I want a hug".

"Oh… do I have to give this bullshit any merit and tell you that it's bullshit? Too much Balzac is very unhealthy."

"Darling, I know it's bullshit, I just don't like hearing it."

"Think about it this way, a few years ago they'd be scandalised by my being male."

"I did think about it. I can't stand them still."

"My poor angel, come, I'm going to spoil you rotten and fuck around with you like the immoral bohemian that I am. Those posh professors do need to practice with Beelz for an hour, then I'd watch them fuck around… no, I wouldn't. Smug ugly humans."

"They absolutely can't understand how we oysters love, can they, my lovely? I'm sorry I was so down… Missed you, wanted to prove to myself that you don't care about…"

"I don't care about anything or anyone, apart from my work and you."

"I'll surely pass it on to your mother."

"Don't you dare! I haven't even begun to spoil you and you…"

Eli kissed him and damn it all, including biology, age, gender and especially physics, lifted Crowley in his arms and carried him to their bedroom. When Crowley was behind him, inside him, holding him, his lips at Eli's ear, his hair covering them from everything in sight (or rather everything in sight from them), he was proud.

_ My darling boy my sweet love you make me so proud nobody can know how we love each other and I'm glad they can't _

_ Oh but you are beautiful angel I can't see how anyone can look at you and fail to love you to bits I love you so angel you feel so good you move so beautifully your moans are so lovely love you you you you ride me I want my fingers in you I want to spoil you you you you you _

***

"There's something I've been wanting to tell you for sometime," said Eli one night driving Crowley back home. It was one of the very rare occasions when Crowley didn't fall asleep the moment Eli started the car.

"Angel… should I be worried?"

"No, I don't think so, not yet."

"Are you alright? Are you ill?"

"I want to be near you all the time and I don't want you to exhaust yourself with commutes."

"There are worse commutes than mine, and I get you in the end. Are you ill, angel?"

"I'm not, my love."

It'd been a while since Eli sent those two emails and he never wanted to talk about them out of quite ludicrous embarrassment.

"I want to be near you, oyster, and about a month before I met you, I had received an offer from the ULC. I told them I'd consider, although it was mean of me, I wasn't going to consider… anyway, I agreed and I informed the head of my faculty that I'm leaving next year."

"I love you, angel. Are you sure?"

"Look, I'll move to London, it will be easier for you and I will have a challenge and a chance to make something better instead of upholding Oxford's reputation. Even if we split up, which I very much doubt, I'll still have something interesting going on to distract me from my broken heart."

"Say something like that again and I won't let you sleep till tomorrow afternoon. And you won't be able to sit properly."

"Oh, oyster, my love, you are so terrifying, I can barely keep my hands on the wheel."

"Tease me more, and you'll be thoroughly sodomised in this car."

"Love, you won't let anyone deflower your car."

"Angel…"

"You fail to scare me, love. I'm tempted, but not afraid."

"Why, you think you can resist me? I'm irresistible, as you've told me."

"I'm not going to resist you. If anything, I'm going to indulge you, my sweet. How are your legs?"

"What about my legs, angel? Lux called you again?"

"No, my dear, but you seem to be less in pain lately."

"I'm happy, angel. I might pay less attention… or do you think I pretended to be in pain?" he sounded genuinely offended.

"No, my love, but if you are less in pain, I'll only be glad."

"I can't tell you, angel. And I can't be what I was before I fell. Before I got drunk and fell."

"I'm sorry to have reminded you. Let's talk about something else, shall we?"

***

"Beelzebub, how did you propose to Gabriel?" asked Crowley lifting them to show Hastur how it should be properly done.

"Ehm… come on, wanker, let's get married, I think… don't think it fits you. Doesn't fit Eli at all."

"Yes, have to agree. Fits Gabriel, though."

"Of course it does. He cried, was so touched…" they remembered fondly.

***

In the end, Crowley decided to wait. He didn't exactly know for what, and as far as he was concerned, they had been married. On the other hand he wanted a piece of governmentally approved paper to wave in front of Eli's pompous colleagues. He might propose at the farewell party… Eli wouldn't like it, he himself wouldn't like it. Therefore it could wait.

***

In July, one lovely afternoon when Eli was sorting his things in his chest of drawers in their bedroom, he found a box. It was a small velvet box, and it looked forlorn and abandoned, which was peculiar, the chest of drawers was new. 

Crowley was in the bathroom. He had been practicing too hard, and no, the pain hadn't gone too far to never come back, so now he was soaking himself in lavender and dreamed of Eli finding the box…

"My dear, look what I found? Isn't it peculiar? Someone's furniture shopping must have gone sour…" 

Eli entered the bath showing Crowley the box. Well, apparently for all his hard thinking, Crowley hadn't come up with a perfectly casual plan, although he did cling to Eli like ivy to a tree during the farewell party. He looked at Eli, at the box, made a face of vague annoyance and utter horror which made his sharp features twist into a Chinese hieroglyph written by a very bad student of Chinese.

"What… what would be your answer, then?" asked Crowley.

"I don't know. Someone wanted to propose, although why would one do it while furniture shopping? And… oh…"

Crowley tried smiling. His knees hurt too much and his heart was filming a remake of "Shawshank Redemption" but like, the whole movie was about digging and nothing else.

"I thought it might be… lovely… casual, you know," explained Crowley apologetically.

"Darling, this is very casual and very lovely. I think I need to sit down."

Eli perched himself on the bath.

"Do you have anything of value in your pockets?" asked Crowley carefully.

"No, I don't think so," replied Eli absent-mindedly. "Why?"

Crowley pulled him into the bath. Since Eli had been made for Crowley, he burst out laughing.

"Now you'll have to undress me, and it's difficult if I'm wet, my dearest oyster."

"Will you bloody marry me? Will you marry me? Please? Pretty please?"

"Of course I will marry you. And you will undress me."

***

It was all rather lovely, apart from the fact that they missed about ten dates at the registrar office, but no one could blame them. Anathema could! But she didn't.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Comments and kudos are very much appreciated.


End file.
